A Killing kindness

The door opened, the consultant emerged trailing clouds of interns, nodded distantly at Dalziel and went on his way.

'Very grand seigneur,' observed Pascoe.

'They'll find the bugger pissed in his Daimler one of these days and then it'll be hello Andy!' said Dalziel philosophically. 'Let's get back to it.'

The superintendent's forecast of Lee's actions on the Wednesday proved remarkably accurate. Rosetta Stanhope was summoned, still smelling of smoke. She largely subtantiated the story, though in her version it became apparent that a minor form of kidnapping had taken place, in that she had been picked up by Lee in his van as she left her flat and driven north while in a round-about way he explained his involvement with the Sorby case. At first she had thought he was confessing to the murder and that had kept her quiet. They had indeed ended up in a camp in Teesdale where the presence of some elderly relatives and some mechanical trouble with the van had persuaded her to spend the night. She had rung her flat, not been too bothered when she couldn't get Pauline at first, tried again much later, began to be concerned, and woken up the following morning to learn from the radio of her niece's death.

Loyalty to Lee had prevented her from attempting to use her gifts to help the police as she had volunteered to Pascoe, but now the truth about Brenda Sorby was out, – she repeated her offer vehemently.

Dalziel shrugged when Pascoe told him.

'You want to cross her palm with silver, that's up to you, lad. But don't let it get into the papers. And don't make a claim on your expenses sheet!'

The children, after being absolved from their vow of silence by their father who was now only too eager for them to talk, had chattered away merrily to Wield who lubricated their vocal cords with cream cake and ginger beer from the canteen. They had heard someone moving away through the sallows along the river bank just before they found the lady. Pressed for more details they had indicated to Wield, who was now a great favourite, that whatever he wanted them to have seen – large, small, fair, dark, man, woman, orang-utan – was OK with them. Mrs Lee and Ms Pritchard were present throughout the questioning, the former indifferent now that the men had given their approval, the latter vociferously alert to any hint of police pressure. Finally Wield pointed at her and said to the children, 'Was this figure anything like that lady.'

'Yes,' said the eldest after close scrutiny. 'I think it was her, mister.'

'No,' shouted the littlest carried away by this imaginative game. 'She's the lady that was in the water!'

And burst into sobs of terror which rapidly spread and could not be stemmed till Ms Pritchard reluctantly left the room.

Silvester Herne too supported Lee's story with some slight modification which reduced his role to that of innocent dupe, unwittingly involved through misplaced loyalty.

And finally the pathologist with the hindsight which is the basis of all great expertise confirmed that the circumstances described by Lee accounted precisely for the state of the body as described in his report and even managed to suggest that they were so clearly implied by his findings that he could not imagine how the police had overlooked them.

'Where's it leave us?' wondered Wield.

'Up shit creek,' said Dalziel.

'No,' argued Pascoe. 'We're a lot further forward. We must be. We now know very precisely where and when Brenda Sorby was killed. Someone strangled her on that river bank and was probably going to leave her nicely laid out like the others when he heard the kids coming. So he tipped her body, not quite dead as it happened, into the water and made off. So, question: did he force Brenda to go with him? Answer, unlikely, the final attack must have been so unexpected she didn't have time to scream, else the kids would have heard her. Conclusion: she knew the man, and trusted him.'

'Question,' said Wield. 'Even if she knew the man and trusted him, what was she doing strolling along the river bank with him when she should have been out shopping prior to meeting Tommy?'

'There's an obvious answer to that,' said Dalziel.

'Hardly!' protested Pascoe. 'She doesn't sound like a two-timer. And she'd just got engaged and bought the ring for Tommy, not to mention the watch.'

'Who said the watch was for Tommy?' asked Dalziel cynically. 'She wouldn't have been the first girl to run two men at the same time – one her own age, one a bit more mature, maybe, bit more exotic.'

'Like a tall, dark, handsome gypsy, you mean, sir?' said Wield.

'Why not?' said Dalziel.

Pascoe snorted in disgust, a noise which Ellie had taught him.

'You're not back to Lee. Is he that cunning?'

'It would be bloody clever,’ admitted Dalziel. 'I mean, the double alibi. And them buggers are all cunning enough, Peter. They're born with the art. Besides, if not Lee, there's plenty of others of his tribe. Come fair fortnight and there's enough golden earrings about the place to hang the Grand Theatre curtain on.'

'No,' said Pascoe vehemently. 'I don't see it. Not this girl, not at this time.'

'All right,' said Dalziel. 'If a bit of nooky's the most likely reason for being along that river bank on a summer evening, and if you think she was too bloody upright for a bit on the side, what's wrong with the legal tenant?'

'You mean Maggs, sir?' said Wield, incredulous.

'Why not? Has anyone asked him yet precisely what he was doing between six and seven that night?'

'No!' protested Pascoe. 'I'd find it easier to believe in Lee than that Tommy could carry something like this off!'

'Racial prejudice,' said Dalziel smugly.

'No, not just that,' said Pascoe, grinning. 'Some of my best friends are Yorkshiremen. But it's just that while I go along with the personal connection, I don't think we should confuse this with the personal motive. Now, Tommy or a secret lover might both have very good motives for murdering Brenda – jealousy, or fear of revealment for instance – but they're not Choker motives, if you follow me.'

'And what's a Choker motive?' demanded Dalziel. 'What that trick-cyclist – whatsisname? – Potty, says?'

‘Pottle,' said Pascoe. 'Perhaps. Something like that. But not personal, not in the strict sense. You know what I mean, sir.'

'Do I?'

'Oh yes. You were very sure, I recall, that Brenda was a Choker victim even though she was found in the water, just as you had doubts about Pauline Stanhope, even though she was laid out in the classic style.'

'I can change my mind, can't I?' said Dalziel. 'I mean, a man gets fed up of being right all the time.'

'It must be painful,' said Pascoe and tried not to respond to Wield's grin behind the fat man's shoulder.

He continued. 'I just wondered if you were thinking what I've been thinking. Perhaps Dave Lee wasn't the only one to get worried when Rosetta Stanhope got so near the mark. Perhaps someone went to the fairground on Wednesday to shut Madame Rashid up and didn't know enough to know that Pauline wasn't Rosetta.'

'Perhaps, perhaps,' said Dalziel irritably. 'But why should anyone but a pig-ignorant gyppo get so upset by this mumbo-jumbo? I mean, what did that newspaper report say?'

The offending paper was produced.

'Blue sky, golden sun, big birds, black faces,' itemized Dalziel. 'Makes it sound like a travel brochure.'

'That's what I thought,' said Pascoe.

'So what's to be scared of?' grumbled Dalziel. 'This was that Duxbury woman, the neighbour? Oh yes, here she's mentioned. She says it was definitely the girl's voice.'

'The mother thought so too,' said Pascoe. 'But of course the situation was hysterical.'

‘Aye. I bet old Wield here was falling about, pissing himself,' grunted Dalziel in the sergeant's direction.

'Perhaps I should have let that pair of linguists have a listen,' said Pascoe.